HTLJ: Why He Stayed
by Arianna18
Summary: So why should he hang around Thebes, Iolaus wonders, with Hercules away doing those labors?


It was hot. Well, that was no surprise. It was that time in midsummer, just after the Solstice, when the air was heavy with seldom even a ghost of a breeze to stir the dusty trees and vines.

It was hotter still this time of day, when the sun had just crested its zenith and there wasn't a speck of cloud in the clear blue sky to soften or deflect the waves of heat that poured down from Helios' chariot.

Hottest of all in the small forge, with the fire blazing to soften the iron. Stuffy, almost airless, like being baked and broiled at the same time.

Rivulets of sweat poured down along his body from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet in his worn leather boots, matting his hair and sliding down his flushed face and neck. Bronzed, well-muscled shoulders, arms and chest glistened with his heavy perspiration, reflecting back the hot glittering flare of the flames so that he glowed in the darkness of the small shed. The leather pants were a torment, but they were safer than lighter material would be, given the constant showers of sparks from the fire and from the heavy slams of his hammer on hot metal.

He seemed careless of the heat, his whole concentration apparently focused on the hard rhythmic blows that rang out far beyond the flimsy wooden walls. His jaw was tight, teeth gritted and his lips drawn almost into a snarl. His eyes were narrowed, though the heat of his intent gaze was not a reflection of the external fire, but of the one that burned within.

Anger. Frustration. A stubborn fury that hadn't burned itself out though it had been more than two months since he'd been left behind.

He took it out on the hot, almost molten metal, hammering it into submission as he could not hammer the Fates, or Fortune or…or his best friend.

Who'd gone off Iwithout him.

Because it wasn't his business to go along.

Because it could be dangerous.

Because he was safer in this blistering, boring, mindless life of beating out plough-shares, or swords or the myriad other bits of metal that made ordinary life easier for the common man.

The fact that he was good at what he did brought no comfort…it wasn't what he wanted to be doing.

As he hammered out his fury, he wondered why he bothered, why he stayed. Why he hoped that the partnership he'd come to rely upon, the friendship that had become the cornerstone of his life, would somehow come to hold everyday meaning again.

He was a fool to harbour such hopes, or so he told himself.

And he wasn't happy about that. He didn't like feeling a fool.

He should just take off…go his own way. He didn't have to stay here. Didn't have to wait…and worry while his best friend took on some stupid, probably dangerous, ridiculous labours to appease the arbitrary gods.

He had skills, as a warrior, as a hunter, that would be welcome in any number of cities or fortresses…or by mercenary armies.

Maybe he should just go. What in Tartarus held him here?

The raw clamour of the heavy, furious hammering, the roar of the fire and the racket of the bitter thoughts that whirled in his mind surrounded him, so he didn't hear the messenger call out as he rode in…didn't hear the man until he was striding into the forge, shouting his name.

"IOLAUS!" Meleager bellowed for about the sixth time, made irritable by the heat and the dusty ride from the vineyard.

The hammering finally stopped as the sweat-soaked blond blacksmith turned to face the wine merchant's steward, a normally cheerful, easy-going man a few years older than the 'smith. Wiping a grimy hand across his forehead, leaving a dark streak behind, Iolaus nodded in acknowledgement. "What brings you out here?" he asked, barely civil.

"There's been an accident with the heavy transport wagon and the axle shattered," Meleager replied, licking his lips against the sudden dryness of his mouth and throat. 'By the gods,' he thought, 'the forge sucks the juice right out of a man.' Swallowing, he continued, "The shipment is already overdue for transit and Vesuvio sent me to bring you, with whatever equipment you need, to make the repairs."

Iolaus blew out a long breath as he set his hammer aside and cooled the glowing sheet of metal in the bucket at his feet before settling it more firmly on the anvil. Then he doused the white-hot coals of the fire with water from the cooling bucket. Wiping his hands on his pants, he turned to gather what he'd need, setting the smaller hammer, tongs, and already partially crafted metal joints into a sturdy wooden open carrying case. "I'll meet you at the vineyard," he grunted as he selected the other tools he would need.

"I've brought a spare horse for you to ride," Meleager replied, anxious to be off. Vesuvio had been in a roaring temper when he'd left…and any delay wouldn't improve his mood.

Iolaus' brows rose at that as he paused and looked back at the steward. With a humourless smile, he reflected, "Vesuvio really is in a hurry, then, isn't he?"

Meleager rolled his eyes and nodded. His master was well known for having little patience at the best of times…but when his business was at issue, when profits were on the line, well, the man could be trial.

"Lead on," Iolaus waved at Meleager to precede him outside. Squinting a little against the harsh glare of the burning sun, he paused a moment by the water barrel for a drink. Then, with the weariness of indifference, he dipped in a small bucket for water to wash off the worst of the grime from his face, hands, chest and arms, then tipped the bucket over his head, to cool himself and rinse off the runnels of sweat. He tipped a second bucketful for good measure, figuring he should make some effort to clean up for a well paying customer.

The drenching water was a relief of sorts, still holding a hint of coolness from being in the shadow of the overhanging roof, though it left him with a soggy pair of leather pants, wet now on the outside to match the sweat-soaked tanned hide inside that clung to his legs. Philosophically, ignoring the discomfort, he figured they wouldn't be soggy long in this heat, and could almost feel them steaming as the dry, greedy air sucked away the moisture. If he hadn't known he'd be working with fire at the vineyard, he'd have stripped them off, exchanging the hot leather for cooler linen.

But, such was the life of a blacksmith. If you can't take the heat, as they say, stay out of the forge.

He secured the wooden case to one of the saddle straps, and then mounted the sturdy bay mare. Despite himself, he felt some of the frustration ease from his muscles at the simple pleasure of riding. He'd always loved horses, loved the feel of their great strength…loved to ride fast and reckless, the wind whipping through his tangled curls. While there'd be no racing today, being astride a fine mount was not to be disdained. Though he was content to walk the length and breadth of the world, to ride was a luxury and one he enjoyed.

Meleager had been waiting impatiently, and so as soon as he was mounted, they set off.

"What happened to the wagon?" Iolaus asked to get an idea of the work that would need to be done.

Shaking his head, Meleager fought the bubble of laughter that rose to his throat but lost the battle. Snorting, he turned to Iolaus with a wide grin. "You'd have loved to have seen it, Iolaus! What a crazy few minutes it was. Costly to be sure, but funnier than…well, it would have been worth all our jobs to have laughed, but it was hard not to."

Intrigued, the blacksmith encouraged with a devilish grin of his own, "So…tell me more."

Meleager looked away done the road as he marshaled his memories. "Well, we'd just finished loading the stock into the wagon. You can imagine it, filled with straw, a very large amphora of ruby red wine stacked carefully against another, until there were scores of them solidly in place and secure. We were ready to head down to the port at Piraeus, as this was the last load destined for the markets in Thira, Rhodos and Knossus. The shipment is already a day late because the amphora supplier had failed to meet his obligations on time so the transfer of the wine from the kegs wasn't finished 'til almost dawn this morning."

Iolaus bobbed his head a little, impatiently waving his hand in the signal to 'get on with it'. Sighing, he reflected that some people just didn't know how to tell a good story.

"Anyway, the team was all hitched up and the driver was about to climb into the box when all of a sudden Trixia burst into the yard like one of the Furies…" Meleager continued, only to be interrupted.

"Trixia?" Iolaus asked, picturing a wild, vengeful immortal with the poise and battle style of a raging Amazon, and thinking the name somehow unsuitable.

Snickering, Meleager replied, "Picture a very small dog, very dainty, all gussied up with a jeweled collar on a lead made from a length of brightly coloured ribbon…you know, something so precious you couldn't imagine it dipping its paws in mud? Well, guess again, my friend. Those little mutts can be the loudest, most ill-tempered, snappy creatures! I think Trixia resents the indignity of the ribbon, and gets trodden on too often when people don't notice her, to remain fine-tempered. She belongs to Vesuvio's daughter, who I might add is the only person in this entire world the man seems to value, no doubt for the bride price she'll one day earn…but the dog and the maiden don't get along, if you get my drift. It seemed as though Trixia had broken away from her mistress, loudly decrying the troubles of her life as she charged into the yard, with her ladyship hot on her trail. The little dog immediately set straight at the horses, yipping and yapping and nipping away at their fetlocks, getting them all a flutter. Which takes a lot, because they're pretty stolid beasts. And, then, the girl appears…and there's something about her, she seems so tiny and sweet…but the animals? When she's around? It's like they are possessed!"

"Oh, come on," Iolaus protested, shaking his head. One small dog and a slight wisp of a girl had spooked a seasoned team of draught horses? Seemed highly unlikely to him.

"You'd've had to have been there," Meleager assured him. "The next thing we knew, the horses were plunging and screaming like banshees, jostling and backing, twisting about in their traces, and the damned little dog wouldn't shut up…men were shouting at the girl to get back lest she get hurt, and cursing both the dog and the horses, to get them to settle down…and, well, the beasts just went completely wild! The wagon ended up smashed into the side of the barn and over-turned, the horses racing off after they'd torn and stomped their way out of their traces, the dog yammering at their tails, chasing after them…amphora shattered, wine flowing everywhere like some kind of ruby waterfall puddling into the dirt of the yard… Vesuvio was screaming and cursing his head off…and his pretty little girl, standing in the midst of it all looking so innocent and surprised and mystified by the chaos around her. Truth be told…I think she was responsible for the whole damned mess!"

Iolaus snorted as he cut a disparaging look at his sometime drinking buddy. "One little girl…you're blaming one little girl for the fact that all you big strong men couldn't control a single team of horses or shoo a yappy little dog along and out of the way. Puh-leese," he scorned, "you can't be serious."

Snickering in memory, shrugging helplessly, Meleager could only assert, "I told you, you'd've had to have seen it. But, I swear sometimes she's possessed of a djinn or something. The animals go berserk when she's around."

"Yeah, right," the blacksmith drawled, picturing a sweet child in pigtails, barely past the stage of sucking her thumb, terrorizing beasts that could flatten her with no effort whatsoever. "I'm afraid I'd have to see this kid in action for myself to believe you, my friend. It all sounds wildly far-fetched."

Meleager just winked at him, but he thought to himself that it would be interesting to see his friend eat his words. There was something distinctly odd about that girl. "Care to make a small wager?" he offered.

Laughing, Iolaus nodded, "You're on…if I see any evidence of this demonic power, I'll buy your ale at the tavern tonight."

* * *

Meleager hadn't been exaggerating about the mess. The yard was still muddy with wine and stank of it.

'What a waste of good grape,' Iolaus mourned as they rode in, and saw that the carpenters were already at work repairing what they could in preparation for his special skills. Workers thronged about, forking new piles of straw for packing, rolling out amphora from the storehouse, filled with wine and securely stoppered, while the wagon driver soothed two massive beasts who still looked skittish, their eyes rolling as they pranced nervously on the far side of the barn.

Trixia was nowhere in sight, nor was the daughter of the house.

A pit had been dug for him, with kindling and logs ready to hand, for his fire. Getting down to business, he examined the wagon, pulled out some of the joints he'd brought along, did the final measurements and set to work.

Not quite two hours later, he accepted his payment from Vesuvio, securing the silver in a pouch he kept in his wooden basket. Tools loaded up, he wished the man a 'good day', conscious of the irony of it but hiding a wry grin, then set off on foot back to his place about five miles away.

He decided to cut through the back way, across fields grayish green with this year's growth of the vines, toward the forest in the distance. It would be cooler, and shorter, going that way than skirting around the town by the main road. Besides, he'd rather be in the quiet of the wood any day than on the busy, dusty byway.

It was a prosperous estate and he could admire the sprawling villa without any sense of envy. Flowering vines grew up along the broad expanse of pale gray walls of stone, the roof bright with red clay tiles. There were vegetable and herb gardens, as well as shrubs and plots of flowers near the house, neatly fenced and evidently tended with immaculate care. Before him, except for a paddock for a small collection of cows and sheep close to the forest end of the property, the fields of neat rows of vine stretched to the very edges of the old forest in the south and as far as he could see to the east and west. Though the day remained stiflingly hot, he didn't mind. It was cooler outside than in the forge, the air sweeter and clear of smoke. For an hour or so, he could enjoy the illusion of freedom, of being on the move.

The peacefulness of the pastoral scene was suddenly split asunder by the sharp yip-yapping that sounded either furiously enraged or terrorized…Iolaus wasn't quite sure which, but the intermittent low growls seemed more a warning than a threat, the sound of fear rather than aggression.

"Trixia, I presume," he muttered to himself as he scanned the rows of vine, thinking the animal couldn't be far away. As he came to the end of one row, he stopped to look around the narrow pathways to either side, and then ambled to the next row beyond, wondering if the animal was hurt or somehow trapped, perhaps caught by its ribboned leash in amongst the vines.

As he neared the source of the frenetic barking, he could make out the low, crooning sound of a sweet voice that sought to reassure and appease the manic little dog.

He didn't know what the voice was doing for the dog, but he was surprised to find the soothing sound ease the tension in his shoulders and back. He'd never heard a voice quite like it, musical somehow, warm and lilting with gentleness and humour. It drew him forward and he could no more resist it than the sailors at sea can turn away from the siren's song.

He hadn't meant to startle her, hadn't realized he moved naturally with a hunter's stealth. So when he abruptly appeared around the end of the row, and saw a small, fine-boned young woman kneeling in the dirt, a scarf partially concealing her glossy, long dark brown hair, he didn't know she had no idea he was there.

A bristling tiny bundle of wiry black haired and very noisy dog was pulling away in a tug of war, the ridiculous scarlet ribbon of a leash stretched taut between the jeweled collar and the girl's tiny fists. The maid was garbed in a cool looking green linen shift, and was kneeling unselfconsciously in the dust as she continued to croon to the frantic little beast. Smiling a little at the scene before him, he called out, "Can I help?"

"Oh!" she jumped, like a startled fawn, her face turning up toward his as her lithe young body swiveled in his direction…the leash forgotten and the dog now pelting away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten y…" he began, intending to reassure as one hand lifted in a gesture of peace. But the words died in his throat as he became lost in the dark, limpid pools of her eyes, fringed with long thick lashes…wide, huge, in the delicate oval of her face. Impressions of a flawless complexion of the palest cream, and generous dusky rose lips, slender brows arching in surprise, a wide, clear brow, and a slim throat like a fragile column of ivory, assaulted his senses. The subtle, restful, scent of lavender seemed to hover in the air around her, and there was a stillness about her, a kind of inherent peacefulness.

She smiled, then, a sudden lighting of those amazing eyes, dimpling her cheeks with mischief…and there was a single mark of beauty, perfect in its placement….

Iolaus forgot how to breathe.

"You didn't frighten me, not exactly," she replied softly. "I just didn't hear you coming." Surprised at herself, usually shy and even timid around men she didn't know, she couldn't help the bright smile that showed small, perfect teeth and that crinkled her nose ever so slightly, like a pixie. She wondered if she was gazing up at a god, so beautiful was this unknown young man, his skin bronzed, taut with muscle, his hair a riot of golden curls glinting in the sunlight…and his eyes like pools of blue laughter, brilliant and so alive.

She moved to rise and Iolaus came back to himself with a slight shake, as if waking from a spell, and he moved quickly to hold out a hand to help her to her feet. Such a small, delicate hand with perfectly sculpted clean nails…such tiny feet encased in thin leather sandals.

Clearing his throat, he managed to blurt out, his voice husky, "I'm Iolaus…I was here to help repair the wagon…"

"Iolaus," she repeated, as if mesmerized by the beauty of his name. Unable to look away, she gazed up into his eyes in a kind of rapture. "My name is Anya," she whispered.

"Anya," he murmured in return, marveling at how tiny she was, how perfect…so delicate. He felt a surge of something…what? A need, no, a profound, even passionate, desire, to protect her, to shield her from any threat or harm. To safeguard her, always.

Realizing that he was standing there like an empty-headed dolt, he finally tore his gaze from hers, though it almost hurt to do so. Casting about for inspiration, he spotted an empty basket, woven of reeds, at her feet. Bending, he picked it up to hand to her. "A little early in the season for harvesting the grape, isn't it?" he asked inanely.

"What?" she asked, seeming confused, then looked at the basket, taking it from him. "Oh, no…I was heading back to the forest to gather some wild thyme and…I, well, Trixia, my dog, objected to going, and…"

"You were headed into the forest? Alone?" he demanded a tad sharply, imagining all manner of dire dangers than could threaten her in the dark shadows beneath the ancient trees.

"Yes, I go often on my own…I love the peace of the forest," she replied softly with innocent simplicity, but feeling a flicker of pleasure that he seemed worried about her welfare.

"You shouldn't go alone," he counseled with sincere concern.

"I'm not afraid," she replied with a flash of spunky humour, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin like a fine and confident lady.

'You should be,' he thought as his breath caught again, shaking his head as he looked away from the effect of her change in posture. She was certainly no child, but a woman, fresh and alluring. Looking toward the tree-line, he suggested hesitantly, "Would you mind if I accompanied you…I'd just feel better than letting you wander alone…"

Grinning with delight, she bobbed her head and boldly looped her arm through his as she replied, "Why, thank you, kind sir…I'd welcome the company…"

Inside, she was quivering, astonished at her boldness. He'd think her a strumpet, for sure! But, he didn't look at her that way, not exactly. He looked genuinely concerned for her…and she felt safe with him, for some reason. As if, despite the way he looked and stood like a bold strong warrior, she could read his soul in his eyes and saw only gentleness there, and compassion mixed with a glint of humour. She felt her face flush and she looked down demurely, suddenly self-conscious with him, wanting so desperately that he like her.

Having finally remembered how to breathe, Iolaus walked with her down the long row of vines to the edge of the paddock, which they had to skirt around to reach the forest paths. He felt a thrill of excitement, and yet also a sense of balance and peace that he couldn't ever remember feeling before. They walked comfortably in silence, each caught in the magic of this unexpected moment.

He was startled from his quiet contemplation of the exquisite young woman on his arm by the sudden bellowing of the cattle and the bleating of the sheep as they stampeded away to the farthest reaches of their confined meadow.

"What the…?" he muttered, recognizing that the animals were fleeing as if in terror of something. Instantly alert, consciously shifting his body to protect her, he looked around, trying to identify the danger. He wondered if a lion had wandered down from the mountains, or if perhaps wolves were near, though it would be odd for either predator to be so close to habitation, this time of year…this time of day.

"Oh, don't mind them," she giggled. "They're a nervous lot…always running away. I think that's why father keeps them penned, so that his men won't have to chase them all over Greece to bring them back."

"Really?" Iolaus asked with a soft smile of amusement, looking down at her, enchanted by the sound of her laughter.

"Hmm," she nodded, as they set out again toward the forest.

As they entered the light dappled shadows of the woodland, he thought about the story Meleager had told him about how the horses had panicked and bolted…about how Trixia had been desperate to get away a few minutes ago and, just now, the strange skittishness of the farm animals. For a moment, his eyes glinted with laughter and he smiled to himself, but then he set those thoughts aside. While Anya harvested her wild thyme, without being quite conscious of it, Iolaus found himself gathering a bouquet of wild flowers, brightly coloured and fragrant, which he handed to her with the grace of a gentleman and the hope of a callow youth.

When she smiled in delight, he thought he'd never felt quite so happy. But, then, he felt his heart clench a little with fear that, maybe, it could never be. If she were who he thought she was, her father would want a rich match for her, not a simple craftsman, or worse, a wandering warrior. But, he straightened his shoulders and his chin came up. He was a blacksmith, with highly valued skills. He did good work and made a good wage from it…certainly enough to provide a comfortable and secure home for a wife…for a family.

Taking a breath, he swallowed, then asked, "You're Vesuvio's daughter, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said, looking up at him with a wide trusting gaze. "Why?"

"I'd like to…to ask him for permission to…to see you again," he stammered, feeling uncharacteristically tongue-tied. "That is, if you would like to see me again…"

She gazed up at him for brief, eternal, moment of wonder, her lips parted and her eyes glowing with hope and anticipation. Then, she smiled and said, "Oh, Iolaus…I would like that very much!"

His own face lit with a smile then, blindingly happy, illuminating his eyes with joy. "Anya…" he breathed, thinking it the most beautiful name he'd ever heard. "I'll walk you back home and speak to him immediately," he assured her, wondering how he'd ever tear himself away when it was finally time to go.

But, go he must. For he was a man of honour.

He owed Meleager the price of his wager…and it could well be a costly night.

But he didn't mind.

For he'd just found a treasure that was priceless.


End file.
